Fourth Island
by CrimsonViper38
Summary: Follows the collapse and rebuilding of our society in the weeks after the Animorphs bring the Yeerk invasion public. Done through multiple views of deep, realistic OCs. NO MARY SUES. NO HEROES. After a long break: Ch 11!
1. Rennaisance

**A/N: Hey guys! This just some copies of notes and ideas that i finnaly typed up. This is also my first submission here, and hopefully it wont be my last. I've got alot more from this story line and ill post it when i get it typed up. I cut it off where I did b/c i love it when ppl flame about cliffhangers and sudden endings. Glad to be part of the Animorph FanFiction community! But its like 4AM and my ass hurts. im oging to bed. Copyright K.A. Applegte for her universe (which i love) and all that jazz. this Jake is not "the" Jake but just a name i got attatched to. sorry for any confusion.**

* * *

Long Island, summer, Jake P, Age 19

* * *

_Sweet dreams are made of These…_

Jake watches the news. Susan, Jordan, Gabby, and the parents too. A sleek, insectoid alien spaceship has landed on the Mall in Washington D.C. Human children, probably Susan's age, walked out. They were flanked by a large blue centaur, if that's what you could image to compare it to.

The camera view bumped around, fell out then back into focus. They were so far away. While the streets of D.C. descended into chaos, Jake's town was deathly still. Everyone was in front of a T.V. Once in a while a car's tires screeched as someone tore down the crescent road at top speed. Presumably to a church or a supermarket to stock up on food or spiritual goodwill.

Some people thought this was the End of the World. Some people were celebrating. What an event! Intelligent Life has been contacted. Or contacted us. They met with the President. He's still alive, so they must be negotiating. About what? I hope they're not playing hardball with the blue centaur. I hope it doesn't get pissed off easy. Diplomacy was never their strong point. Jake worried more and shifted loudly on the couch.

Some members of the Cabinet and Secret Service were filmed running out of the White House to their black Limos and SUVs. They had their guns unholstered.

Mom was calling the neighbors. Dad was pacing with his keys.

No shots were fired in the White House or in front of any cameras. Congress disbanded. Some senators were rushed into armored cars. Republicans from Florida, Democrats from New York, ran their bloated bodies full tilt and scattered, yelling "No comment" to the masses of reporters pacing them at their sides. _It means nothing. I'd be doing the same thing._

Police had lined up around the gates outside the White House, decked out in riot gear. Tear gas, sonic cannons, and rubber bullets at the ready. The stuff of movies and epic stories. Domestic violence had exploded all over the country. Parents shooting children, children attacking their parents. People disappearing for no reason. Cell phone systems were overwhelmed with traffic within 30 minutes. Looting had begun in many major cities. It was only a matter of time before someone _here_ gets the idea to take to the streets.

Then the bombshell. The President held an unscheduled press conference by walking out onto the stage, stopping the Press Secretary in midsentence. Secret Service men rushed the room, lining up facing the Press, guns ready. The president was shaken, pale, and visibly worn down. How could he not be?

To the reporters and the whole world he told of the Invasion.

Yeerks.

War.

Infestation, infiltration. For years we had been deceived, the aliens had been among us, slowly absorbing power and increasing their numbers. How? They are parasites. Is that the proper term for what They are? Neural predators. Body snatchers of the perfect design. They come into direct contact with a host's nervous center and override the victim's control of its body.

Total control.

Eyes, lungs, hands, everything. Even involuntary body functions like heart rate, sweat, tears…

And they are everywhere, the President says, practically in a whisper. It does not matter how loud he talked, 8 billion people hung on every quivering word.

"They are your doctor, your senator, your priest, your teacher." He choked a bit, collected, and looked directly into the camera:

"Your mother, your brother, your friend…"

A sudden gasp escaped the Press Secretary standing hands folded beside the President. Two secret servicemen pinned him to the floor. He screamed in anger, and struggled as the larger suited men restrained him. The President turned and backed away. Reporters jumped up obscuring the trio from view. The room erupted; flashes of light enveloped the stage. The small blue 'LIVE' square burned in the upper left corner of the screen. Different camera angle now, facing down. A service member pulled a gun on a reporter who rushed the stage. The servicemen produced a gun from the belt of the press secretary. Why was he armed? Did he try to pull it on the President?

"Filth! Andalite Filth!" he roared.

Another man howled and rushed the stage. Two more men tackled him, but not before he fired two shots onto the stage, one hit the Press Secretary; the second missed the President, who was immediately rushed from the room.

A young woman in a grey shirt cried "Visser! I'm so sorry!", turned and fired off stage after the President. Another serviceman joined her and fired on whoever was behind the curtains, instead. Back to main camera.

Pandemonium. Then enter the wild animals.

A tiger and a wolf joined the fray.

The tiger leapt clear over the podium, scattering grey shirt lady and insane secret serviceman. The wolf pounced on the woman, biting her around the neck, staining the shirt maroon. The camera jumped. Something hit it. More men rushed the room, and a flash of blue and chrome appeared on the left side, cutting down a man in uniform. The screen went to standby.


	2. A Family Affair

**A/N: Thanks to Sinister Shadow for the tip. I know this is a quick update since ch. 1 was just a few hours ago, but it's done and I'd rather not sit on it.**_  
_

* * *

_Who Am I to Disagree?..._ Jake's father stood up, his mother was speechless holding the phone receiver limply in her hand. 

"Get what you need." Dad said. "We're going to the Lake House." Upstate, deep in the Catskills. It was secluded, far away from anyone or anything. Jordan bent over on the couch and clutched his head. Jake turned to his father to protest.

"We would have to go through the city to get off the island."

His father looked at him blankly and said nothing. He turned his back from the T.V. "There will be traffic jams for miles! And the looters-"

"Now!" He burst. "I said get your stuff and get to the car!" The whole family shook. Jake stood stunned. When his father didn't answer, his look was one that said 'do it or else,' he though he could press the issue. Apparently not. His mother stood up.

"Tom, we don't even know what this means…" she said. _Not really. _Jake thought. _Aside from the details, the world was falling apart._

"It _means_ they're everywhere, Ellen! Anybody! Coming home, I heard on the radio something about that 'Sharing' cult. The radio said it's a conspiracy. It's still half right. They're connected, they may even be a group of them."

"Them. Them! What 'Them'?!"

"I don't know! Do you know? No!"

"Exactly! So calm down! You are not moving this family until we know what's going on." Mom pressed, motioned to the T.V. Gabby picked up the remote and flipped channels. All showed the standby feed from the White House briefing room, none of the cable news stations were switching off for fear of missing something. No wait. BBC just went back, but only showed a dumbstruck anchorwoman stumbling over her words, clearly having no idea of what to say. Dad fired back.

"Margaret down the block is in the Sharing! Her whole family is! They try to recruit us all the time, remember?" He argued, gritting his teeth. Jake drew in a breath. Mom picked up the phone.

"Don't call Margaret…"

"I'm going to ask her what she thinks of-"

"Put the phone down, Ellen!"

She did. "Your not putting this family in danger, driving us in a car out in the open with who knows what!"

"Danger?" Dad shouted, incredulous. "You were about to call one of _them_ to let us know that we were on to them!" Mom turned around, hand over her mouth. Jordan looked up, the light from the T.V. illuminating his face.

"I want to stay." He said. Gabby chimed in:

"Me too, Dad." Susan muffled her agreement as well. The car keys twirled on Dad's finger.

"Who can we trust?" he said after awhile.

"No one." Jake said softly. There was an awful silence after that. No one looked at each other.

"My mother." Mom offered. "She has always hated the sharing. Called them Nazis-in-training once."

"No, that's what she may want you to think. She looks like she hates them, only so she can operate outside the sharing. Why put all of their beans in one basket?" Dad paced.

"Why would she have us think that if these Yeerks were not planning to be uncovered at all?" Jake said.

"You think they'd not have a plan if they were to be uncovered?" Dad shot back.

"My mother is not an alien." Mom said firmly. Gabby sniffed back a tear.

"My friend Daniel isn't." Jordan said. "His parents got divorced because his dad quit his job to work for the Sharing full-time. He's still angry at him."

"Matt isn't either." Jake said, referring to his best friend, who lives down the block. "He gets into fights with a kid from the sharing at work."

"I'm telling you all it's all an act." Dad reiterated. "They're impossible to detect, because they can act like normal people when they take over. No personality differences at all."

That was awkward. It dawned on the family just then that even they could be Yeerks. Or infested by Yeerks, whatever. _Too many new things to think about and the only one who _thinks_ he knows what's going on is Dad, who is spitting out conclusions like a rabid Daffy Duck._

Dad sat down on the couch. "How do we know?" He said softly, watching the replay of the blue and chrome blur that left a human being in two pieces.

"We don't." was the correct answer, just no one said it.

"For the sake of this family, I'm going to trust you all. Our loyalty is to each other, first and foremost." He said slowly. His wife, nodded. "There's nothing we can do, I think. If one of us is.."

"I'm not!" Gabby protested.

"I know, Gabby," he said, eyes closed. "We just have to make sure."

"But-" Gabby began.

"Shh!" Jordan hissed. Gabby fell silent. No one spoke for a while, no one dared to move.

"No one comes into this house, understand?" Dad said softly.

"Yes." The children said in unison.

"We should call my sister," Mom said. "She's probably heading up to the Lake House too."

"Be careful." Dad warned.

"She's my sister, there's no way I wouldn't call her. I won't say anything."

"Is Aunt Mary a Yeerk?" Gabby whispered to Jordan.

"They don't know! God, don't you get it?" Jordan growled impatiently. Gabby slumped.

"Mary? It's me… I know. It's unbelievable…"

"We still need supplies." Jordan said. Dad stood up.

"Right. Who wants to go?" Jordan and Gabby raised their hands. Mom, phone in hand, shook her head and motioned at Gabby. Susan grabbed her hand and lowered it to the seat.

"Right." Dad nodded. "Jake, get ready. You're going."

"What? Why?"

"Because you don't want to go."

"Bullshit…" Jordan mumbled.

"You need to help watch the house." Dad sighed. "Besides, no ones doing what they want for a little while."

"You wouldn't have chosen me anyway and you know it." Jordan whined.

"Are you coming?" Jake asked his father.

"Should I?" eyebrows raised quizzically. A short pause.

"No." Jake said with reserve.

"Damn, I knew it wouldn't work again."

"Lets go."


	3. Degeneration

**A/N: Final bit for now, the next part is not developed yet. I know this is kinda short. I have a decent storyline together, but no narration, no dialouge for the next stage. I do promise new characters, though! And who knows who is a controller in the family? I do! bwahaha! Please please PLEASE keep on reading, keep reviewing, i need all the constructive criticisim, suggestions, and encouragement i can get.  
**

**Untill next time..  
**

* * *

_Bring it Down!... Bring it Down!  
_

* * *

Silence. Dad's driving. 

"What was that called? For what the question was? What's the word?" Dad asked.

"Double negative." Jake answered quickly, and kept his gaze out at the people in the streets.

"Ah…" Dad breathed. "You don't think…"

"No." Jake said, rolling his eyes up to his father's reflection in the window. "And if I did suspect, I wouldn't tell you." His father remained quiet. "Or anyone." He added. Dad smiled.

"Know any of them?" Dad asked.

"Yeah. They're from high school. One works at the deli… oh. Well, I guess I don't know.

"Hm."

"What do we need?"

"Water, anything canned. Get that first. Vitamins too. Don't worry about the meats until later." He answered, turning into the Walbaums' parking lot.

"You know," Dad said. "The world's going to change. A lot."

Jake sat for a bit, rolled with the car as it hit the speed bumps.

"It's changed before." He shrugged. "I'm used to it."

The parking lot was flooded with people from all over town. The store manager was at the entrance yelling with her hands up, begging people to get in line. A dozen teenage employees were lined up at the window looking at the mob of their neighbors with fear and distrust.

Some men in the crowd started to relay the manager's order to the back. A thick line began to form. Newcomers were pointed to the back. For a while parties were allowed in to the market, but soon some people had slipped in, cutting. People panicked and one by one began to dash for the door. One man barreled over the manager and tore inside. Hesitation, then anger emanated from the crowd. A few helped her up and blocked the door. Jake turned to his father:

"This isn't going to work."

"No kidding."

A man tried to push his way in. Two men pushed him back. He threw a punch, and was tackled to the ground. The buzz of the crowd faded to a muffled hum. A woman in line screamed "Idiot!" at him.

The man friends rushed forward to break it up, but they too were shoved back. A glimpse of the man on the ground getting kicked in the jaw bore an uproar from the crowd.

It was getting louder.

A man hurled a shopping cart through a large glass pane. Attention drawn there, the two guards were overrun. The whole mass pushed forward.

"Let's go!" Jake called, pushing to the market

"I don't think so! Let's go somewhere else!" Dad yelled over the roar of the mob.


	4. Prisim

**A/N: Update! Im glad im motivated enough to do this. With the scrappy notes i had, i threw together this draft and just went with it. Just me and a few hours worth of Tool and Buckethead and look what I get. It was a big hump to get over. For me anyway. Im not exactly a natural like some of the folks 'round here :-P.   
I know the last chapter was short, so i made up for it and went the distance with this one. I tried to get more dialouge in there, I like dialouge. This is my favorite so far, but then again i just wrote it. Everything I had just written is my Favorite. I've had alot of favorites lately. Figured it was about time to introduce the second family. Hope you all like! Untill next time.**

* * *

The man leapt through the window. He landed on the edge. On the broken glass. It sank into his stomach. _The fool who first opens the can_. Paige just blinked. And watched it all, as if it were far, far away. She knew the people here would storm the market. She knew the voices all around her were raising with the tempers. _Is the fool to unleash the worms._ But she didn't hear it. She withdrew to the back of her mind. She watched through a dark tunnel that betrayed no sound save the beating of her own heart and slow breaths.

A rush of wind.

Faceless, nameless cadavers rushed past. She remained untouched, and undaunted.

Here come the worms.

Sirens echoed somewhere behind her. Time to go.

_People are so disappointing._ Paige thought. _Let's hope this alien is not as predictable._ She turned to her sister. Ali looked like she was yelling something, eyes full of fear and purpose. She realized that she was tugging on her wrist, pointing away from the building. _Always looking out for her baby sister. _Paige blinked again. And she came out of her tunnel.

"-out of it, Paige! Let's go _now_!" Sound exploded everywhere. How could she just lapse off like that? She knew. When you witness something you know to be so critical, a turning point that opens a new chapter in your life, you just know it. You watch it differently that some minor, insignificant, trite event. It burns itself into your memory so permanently and completely that it consumes your thoughts. She knew her town, her world, her life as she knew it shattered with that window. She was there. It happened right in front of her.

She saw it better than anyone.

But now it was "fight or flight" time, and seventeen year old Paige and her sister would now be holding their ground here.

"Let's GO!" Ali ordered.

"Yeah." Paige breathed. "Let's go."

Ali did not waste time. She ran headfirst directly against the current of people. Paige followed in her wake. Ali never hesitates. She does what needs to be done, no matter how difficult. The course of action called for the sisters to punch through the crowd. Ali was up for the job. And like everything else, she performed it without a complaint. She and Paige were the same size, even though she was two years Paige's senior. But Ali was weathered and tough. Much tougher than her dainty frame would suggest.

Her strength was not of the physical, however. Her strength came from her determination to do what needed to be done. For all her memories of her sister, the ones that define her best were those days where their parents would fuss about pretty little Paige's clothes, Paige's homework, Paige's dance recital, Paige's birthday party. All the while Ali was there, hand on shoulder, not complaining one bit about her lack of attention. She even smiled and enjoyed her sister's joys every time without exception. She never showed even a hint of jealousy. Never once had she asked for anything not already given to her. When pretty little Paige was given a silver spoon, solid old Ali was given a block of ore and left to make her own. Paige was the one who was going to marry a doctor, accomplish all her dreams, was going to make her parents proud. The shining apple of Ma and Pa's eyes. Paige guessed Ali would not have it any other way. She liked the work.

As she followed her older sister past the frantic masses, Paige reminded herself of what she wanted to become: Ali. Her parents spoiled her. Her sister taught by example, and made baby sister better for it.

"Opened a can of big, ugly worms, that guy." Ali muttered when they broke free of the crowd.

"Thinking the same thing." Paige said. She watched as 4 cops hustled towards the market.

"You idiot! You could have been trampled! When I say 'follow me' you don't just-"

"Sorry." Paige uttered. She cast a nervous gaze past her sister at a large white tent being pitched on the edge of the parking lot. A white commercial van was parked behind it, brown boxes being unloaded. A banner was unrolled.

The Sharing.

'Emergency disaster relief meeting'.

She remembered getting the flyer in her mailbox coming home early from school. A senior member must have dropped it off at her house after they saw the news. Amazing that someone would have the wherewithal to spring into action after seeing _that_.

But that's the thing. Ali would. Paige watched Ali turn around and stare at the makeshift setup. Her frown tightened into a growl. She grabbed Paige's hand and walked back into the crowd.

When Paige walked in the door with the flyer that morning, Ali was already there, waiting. It was cloudy. The house was dark, but the lights were still off.

"Shouldn't the Red Cross or the National Guard be handing out relief?" Ali growled. The sisters were surrounded with people again, the view of the Sharing tent obscured. "And what 'Disaster'?"

Paige said nothing, and replayed that morning in her head.

"Where's mom?" Ali asked, hunched over the coffee table.

"She's on her way home. The trains are real crowded, but she's okay, she got out before the riots."

"Good." She said after a pause. She sat up and put her hands on the couch. Her face was covered in shadow.

"You got out of work?" Paige asked as she shuffled through the door and put down her bag.

"You got out of school." She said.

"Yeah."

"Did you see the news yet?"

"No?"

"What do you know?" Ali asked.

"Only what everyone else is saying. What happened?"

A long pause. "It's on the news." She answered simply. Paige grew irritated with this whole coy act.

"Um…" She began towards the T.V.

"A guy came for you an hour ago. From the Sharing." Ali cut her off.

"What did he want?" Paige stopped in the middle of the dark room, arms folded.

"He asked for you; he gave me that flyer in your hand."

Paige gripped the piece of pink paper at her side.

"He said the group is getting supplies together and going to hand them out. They need all the help they can get."

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll let you know." Another pause.

"Is that all?" Paige held her arms out, impatient.

"He asked me if I could come too. As in right now."

"Well, why didn't you? People may need help."

Ali shifted on the dark couch. A slight ray of light pierced through the shades, lining silver around her silhouette.

"How important are you in the Sharing, Paige?"

"What?" Paige asked, stunned and wary.

"Are you one of the higher- ranked members?"

"I- I've only been going for a month." She said defensively. She could not suppress the sense that she was in danger.

_Sometimes fear can be an asset. _She thought. She was afraid, shaking even.

"I'm only going to ask you this once." Ali said, she stood up, her dark figure foreboding and dangerous. "Have you been spending time with any higher ranked members? _Have you_ _tried to become an elite member?_"

Paige flashed through all the times her superiors talked about 'moving up'. About becoming a leader. About how great it was and how satisfied they felt. Her group leader quit his job to work full time. Her physics teacher was one. He handed out extra credit to students who joined, and invited the class to barbeques. _'Everyone wants to be a part of something bigger than they are. Everyone wants to be on the winning team.' _He said.

"You're not given a hand in the matter. They decide when your ready."

"Mm."

"Ali? You're scaring me right now."

"They said they need to feed every three days. You're out a lot, Paige. Where do you go? Is it to the Sharing?"

"What's wrong with the Shar-" Paige backed up.

"Do you have _any_ inkling of what that group does?"

Paige could only shake her head in confusion. Ali slowly advanced one hand behind her back.

"Do you know what they _do_ to people in there? What goes on in those Elite member meetings? Those 'initiation ceremonies'?" Ali growled.

"I- I heard crazy rumors..." Paige pleaded.

"I've heard crazy _facts_!" Ali hissed. Fury emanated from her. It almost shook the walls.

"You don't trust the Sharing?" Paige whispered, trying not to provoke her suddenly terrifying sister.

"Do _you_ is The Million Dollar Question, Paige." Her hand twitched behind her back

"Do you trust me?" Paige pleaded, desperate to find an escape route.

Ali stood silent for a while. Contemplating that question, in a loud silence that only Ali could.

A butcher knife dropped to the floor behind her. It gleamed in the minimal grey light that occupied the room. Ali dropped to her knees, gasping loudly for breath.

"Oh God." She cried. "I'm so sorry. I thought… you were…" she broke into tears. Her face contorted in pain, tears flowing but so, so silent. A loud gasp, and she was up embracing her baby sister.

Paige's arms were limp at her side. Over Ali's shoulder Paige stared at the knife. What It represented. What It could have done. What a poisonous thing, to hold an object like that with whatever Ali intended to do. It shook both sisters down to their cores. They stood there in each others arms for a while, let the darkness surround them, glad they were unable to see each other's faces.

A group began to form around the tent. People began walking off with cases of Poland Spring. A second tent was pitched next to the Sharing's. This one owned by the local church. There was already a young, slick-looking man preaching from the roof of his car.

Paige got an awful premonition. Ali said it first.

"We can't let any elder members see you. They'll wonder why you're not with them. Can't let them suspect you know anything."

"Why are they out in the open? Don't people know that they're a front?"

"The President didn't get to tell us that. Maybe he wouldn't have anyway. It was only leaked as rumors on small private radio stations. They didn't blurt it out because they don't want the Sharing to know that they're onto them.

"You can't just go around screaming 'controller' at everyone there. One slip up and they'll all be forced into open action, no more sneaking, no more exposing themselves in the open. I'm shocked they're even out now and they don't know about it yet. I don't want to be around when they're exposed."

"Shit." Paige could only muster.

"Let's move, it's not safe with all these ears around."

"Okay."


	5. Agnostic and the Damned

**A/N: Hey guys! my continued thanks to the readers and especially the reviewers for their support. For this one, I made a few changes to what my basic idea was. I read someone's review on this site that got me thinking. Something about falling into the stereotypicial "7th animorph" trap or the "perfect character" syndrom. It was always my intention to make my characters as realistic as possible, but looking over my notes it dawned on me that I was giving my charactes too many positives and not enough negatives. So, heres a deeper look at Jake (not _thee_ Jake) and how he has lots of deep-rooted disdain for humanity and Religion. Hes not a happy character. I'll enjoy working on him too, i've got enough ideas from the 'cheerful' works of Sylvia Plath and Gwendolyn Brooks to make a _very_ unhappy character. At least he's deeper than before :-P. Please no flames on what I wrote here on the Church or anything else. It's only getting into chracter, kinda like Will Ferrel playing a Nazi in The Producers. Thanks everyone!**

* * *

"I know you better than you know yourselves!" The well groomed man on the car preached. Thomas, Jake's father, stopped to listen. The crowd flowed into the market as the preacher spat and pointed accusingly at the writhing mass, alone standing tall over the chaos around him. Members of the church gathered around him, seeking dulling comfort from what appeared to be the lone confident man in the entire world.

It was sickening to Jake.

He'd seen it before. It is one of the oldest of trends in human history. In times of uncertainty people turn to faith, brash leaders, and heroes, while those who seek to recruit the members swoop in from all over, reverberating strength and will.

Looking to make a killing.

Stealing an amputee's boots.

Stealing a homeless man's cardboard box

Flocking to mourners while they are at their most perceptive of an easy way out of their misery. Caesar did it, Hitler did it, and Stalin did it. FDR, George W. Bush, the Church, Military recruiters, Islamic fundamentalists, The Sharing.

His father, Jake thought, for all his strengths and grasp on what is real and what matters, knew nothing of when to be devout and when to fend for himself.

"I know none of you are perfect. It is humanity's vanity in itself in which we are most powerful, and most vulnerable. Hubris may yet to prove to be our downfall in the face of these rising threats from the unholy demons from the heavens. They were cast upon us by God to rid this world of all of those who are not worthy of salvation! Wretched man shall not be cleansed off this earth by flood or hellfire, but by quiet hunters.

"You all have sinned! You all have turned your back on His word! You scorn your neighbors! Kill the unborn! Sodomy! Wrath! Lust! You deride the faithful, indulge in avarice, and consume far more than what you require. These creatures are a test that you all have brought upon us, and it is you who will go first! The Lord forgives all those who wish to seek salvation in His word! Those who reject him, even now, will burn with the damned in the valley of death."

_Then I'll meet you there._ Jake thought, and left his father's side. He hoped the slick man on the car with the brilliant plastic smile choked on his words, for to Jake, they were impossible to swallow.

"Praise! Glory be to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!" the voice bellowed. Walking to the car, he heard his father's voice among the few dozen cry 'Amen!'

"Praise be unto Christ the one true God!" the voice faded, as Jake crossed the parking lot.

He recalled a day when his Dad tried to explain to him why he could not cut school to go an amusement park for his friend's birthday.

"_Sometimes it's better to hear things that we don't want to hear and do things that we don't want to do. That's life, it's not always fair, and it's not always right. If everyone did what they wanted nothing would get done."_

"And what about hearing what you want to hear, Daddy?" Jake asked the memory. The image of his father did not blink. But his 10-year-old self turned and smiled.

_"You just have to know when it is time to trust in yourself and not what your friends tell you."_ His father's voice echoed. The young memory of a child spoke, smiling still.

_"It is the lessons we forget that are most important to us."_

Don't forget.

Jake turned around and stared at the growing crowd of worshipers. Who is he to judge and damn us? We maggots. We sinners. We humans. How can he draw strength from nothing and believe he is better for it? How can act so righteous and divide this complex world into black in white?

_Why can't I have that kind of faith?_

Jake had always wanted to believe.

Maybe then he can quell the simpering guilt that constantly reminds him that he is not perfect no matter how hard he tries. He could leave a terribly pessimistic and lonely life behind, if he could just discard the clinging mental debris that defiantly cries out to 'wait for something better'. His father found the door, and walked through. Jake could barely stand to approach it.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Police were scrambling backups to the market.

Too late for that. Residents were flowing out of the building with all they could carry, desperately fighting off others who tried to ambush them on their way to the car. A middle-aged woman tripped and spilled boxes of cereal, juice, and milk all over the pavement. Her young son cried out in despair and ran back for her. They tried to reclaim some cans of food and soda as some men ran to the scene.

Instead of helping the woman up, they bent over, took armfuls of food and ran. With nothing left but a box of Cheerios and some water bottles, the young boy struggled to get his mother on her feet. He could not overcome her weight. The people around them only watched as tears flowed from the pair.

Everyone was frozen, waiting for someone else to take charge. No one would put that responsibility on themselves. Jake started to gain momentum and ran out past the cereal and spilled juice.

The boy saw Jake coming and recoiled crying out even louder. Jake kneeled down and reached for the mother's arm, but the boy, who couldn't be more than ten or twelve, lashed out and struck Jake out of fear. Jake ignored the blows and heaved to woman to her feet. He boy turned his attention to his mother and gripped her side.

"Thank you, thank you." She breathed, clearly in pain. She ran with a limp to her car without another word, son in tow. Jake caught his breath and looked around at the gathered frozen crowd. The men in suits and the women in office casuals. The teens in Goth attire, the elderly in sweats. The cell phones, the jewelry, the pampered hair.

He favored them all with the dirtiest look he could muster, and then walked back to the car to wait for his Dad.

A hand rested on his shoulder. He tensed up and whirled around, fists clenched.

"Paige!" he exclaimed.


	6. Of Being Civil in the Cauldron

**A/N: Things are picking up. This one was tough. I'm not tottally happy with it, but ill revise it another time. right now im plotting out where we go next. enjoy the hints of what's to come ;-)** ... **okay _please_ enjoy it. and reviews are always welcome! feedback and ideas too!**

* * *

****

Paige straightened up and wrapped her arms around the back of her friend's neck. Jake returned the gesture, and rested his chin on Paige's shoulder. The two stood for a few seconds, a visceral meeting of two people pretending that the world around them is not really falling apart. Jake saw Ali approaching them, and he greeted her with a warm smile.

She didn't return it, of course. She doesn't allow her dazzling smile to dazzle enough. That was just Ali, and you couldn't do anything about it.

She marched forward, straight golden hair flowing behind her. Jake maneuvered and held his arms up to embrace her as well.

Ali stormed past without a word.

She grabbed her sister and continued on.

"Ali?" He asked, stunned.

She stopped.

"Ali…" Paige whispered, turning slightly to her sister.

Ali turned around and gave Jake the coldest stare he'd ever seen. The kind that old friends never give each other.

"Stay safe, Jake." She turned back, guiding Paige away.

_A warning?_

Jake felt he was missing something.

"Oh no…" Jake recoiled.

Paige was in The Sharing.

He had to warn Ali. _But what if she's one of them, too?_

* * *

Ali was struggling to calm down. Paige should have known better. She can't trust _anyone!_ Even old friends like Jake.

It stirred up suspicions of her sister once more. A member of The Sharing. If it's not lack of grasp of the situation, her just running up to Jake, then is it total confidence of knowing who is a controller?

Was it so easy for her to go to Jake because she knew he's a fellow controller?

_God, calm down, Ali._ She willed herself.

Footsteps behind her. "Ali, wait!" Jake called.

_No, get away._ Ali begged inside.

"Ali!" Jake yelled. Ali stopped. Paige turned and said meekly:

"He was helping a lady who fell…"

"So, what?" Ali hissed back. It hurt Ali to say it, but she found it hard to believe that Jake, one of her best and oldest friends, would allow a slug in his head.

This was the boy who in kindergarten, when her father died of cancer, and without any sense of the tragedy that had hit her, somehow felt obligated to give her a hug and sit with her that whole first day back. Braving cooties and scorn from the other boys, Jake spent all of his playtime wordlessly comforting her behind the bookshelf. The only time he sat still for more than 5 minutes all year, Ali's mother said. He had no idea how much it meant to her. She was afraid to ask if he even remembered.

_He cannot be a controller. _

_I refuse to believe it._

So she turned.

"Can I talk to you?" They said together. Jake looked stunned. They walked to the side, leaving Paige alone clutching her elbows.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

_Far from okay._ She wanted to say. But instead:

"I think it goes 'Does a bear piss in the woods?'"

_Man that was stupid._ She thought, regretting the words as soon as she said them. Jake rolled his eyes.

"I meant are you _okay?_" He pressed.

"What do you mean?" Ali's eyes narrowed.

Jake turned red, clearly not wanting to clarify. His gaze dropped and darted over to Paige, then back to Ali.

_Paige. A member of The Sharing._

Did he know?

"Did you listen to the radio?" She asked him.

His eyes widened, and his face returned to normal. But he recognized what the word 'radio' meant. His motives were betrayed right there. He asked a question of his own.

"Do you trust Paige?"

"She's my sister."

"You know what I mean."

"I will in three days."

He allowed a smile. "Keep her in sight."

_He knows about the Sharing._ He knows what the radio was saying about the Sharing. If he was a controller, he would have warned them. They wouldn't be out in the open.

Ali was flooded with relief.

"You're not one of them." She whispered.

Jake kept his face straight. "No." He whispered back.

* * *

_Is she one of them?_ Jake thought. But did she guess I was talking about the Sharing? Jake guessed he made it pretty obvious when he asked about Paige.

_Don't let your guard down. _He willed himself.

"You're not one of them." She whispered.

_She's probing. She's waiting for me to slip up._

"No." Jake responded carefully neutral. Her eyes softened a little bit.

Now what?

Jake heard Paige shuffle her feet. He heard Ali clear her throat.

In fact he could hear things quite clearly.

He realized the noise and mayhem had faded. All around them was the motionless, soundless display of a throng on the cusp of something great. Looters stopped looting, The Sharing stopped sharing, and preachers stopped preaching. Everyone became listeners listening. Something important was happening.

It happened to be a man blasting his car radio.

His radio happened to be blasting the Emergency Broadcast Signal.

The unmistakable ambient grinding buzz resounded through four hundred human beings, each standing alone, yet all as one. Crows called out to one other in the pillars of oak.

If someone dropped a penny, even the deaf would hear it.

The shopping center put it on the external speakers. Other cars tuned in and echoed the station.

"_This is the Emergency Broadcast Service…"_

_"This is the Emergency Broadcast Service…"_

_"The following residential areas have been issued blanket orders of evacuation: suburban areas up to 10 miles south of San Francisco, suburbs within a 25 mile radius of Dallas, Fort Lauderdale, Las Vegas, Boston and surrounding areas, Richmond, Manhattan Island, and Los Angeles County. Please stay out of these areas. _

_"Residents of Los Angeles County are specifically advised to avoid being downwind of any clouds of debris and/or smoke originating from the city center. These clouds may contain harmful elements, chemicals, airborne toxins, and asbestos._

_"Please exercise caution and vacate these areas in a calm and orderly fashion. Do not crowd major highways with trailers or any external additions to your vehicle. Avoid all areas with escalated violence. Please contact local authorities if you witness _any_ organized attacks or unusual gatherings of armed civilians. Do not attempt to contact these individuals, even if you recognize them._

_ "The President of the United States has instructed the National Guard to mobilize to all major metropolitan areas, in order to combat rioters and unidentified organized aggressors. Members of the Army Reserve and all local emergency services are to report to their local headquarters to receive briefings and further instructions. _

_"The President states that attempts to contact many west-coast military bases and Air Force bases have failed, citing breakdowns in communication networks and unauthorized mobilizations of U.S. troops to undisclosed locations. Please do not attempt to contact anyone stationed in these bases. _

_"The FAA has grounded all flights over national airspace; do _not_ attempt to board or operate a plane or helicopter. _

_"Locally, Suffolk and Nassau County officials have declared a curfew beginning at 6:00 PM, and recommend that all citizens should stay off the streets, and wait for further developments inside their homes."_

* * *

Things happened all at once. There was no denying it now, we are under attack. No one need it spelled out for them anymore. The Yeerks were on the March.

People scattered every which way. Back into the store, as far away from the store as possible. People were probably running home. People were probably running to loved ones. People were probably running to find a place to hide or to find a way off the island.

People were running.

People were screaming.

Colliding. Embracing. Fighting. Crying.

Car alarms blared. Tides of biomass flowed over anything and everything.

Everywhere. Glass shattered. Voices cried out in anger and despair.

It's all over. No need to be civil about it anymore.

Jake was stunned. God, he thought, was probably laughing somewhere up there in infinitude, sipping a margarita – crowing down 'you all thought _I_ was gonna get you again?'"

This can't be.

The Preacher was stunned, a look of awe on his face, standing atop his pedestal encompassed with a hundred desperate hands reaching up to him for words of guidance.

A large, burly man with a thick beard climbed up next to him. He raised his fist high over his head and roared an affirmation:

"NO! FEAR!"

He drew in another mighty breath, and blasted again.

"NO FEAR!" It was an oath he was taking. The desperate kind of oath that a man who has nothing to lose takes.

"No fear!" A woman cried back. The preacher buried his face in his hands, and fell to his knees.

"No fear! No fear!" the crowd chanted together.

"Dad!" Jake yelled. His voice was not strong enough to carry.

Someone bumped into Jake from behind. Another nearly knocks over Ali.

Paige screamed behind them. Jake whirled around to see a mangy-looking man tugging Paige away by her hair and arms. He's trying to take her.

"Ali!" Jake yells. She was already moving.

The man looked up, stopped struggling with Paige and took off. Jake and Ali gave full chase. No way was he getting away. _Rape. Murder. _The man dashed between two figures and cornered around a column of shopping carts. Jake tore around and dashed ahead of Ali.

'Mangy' got to a car and gets out his keys. He looks over his left shoulder for his pursuers and turns back to his car. Big mistake. Jake had a clear vector to his right side.

"Sicko!" Jake grunts. He lowered his shoulder and ran full on into the man, crushing him against the car. Sheet metal popped in and out as the man's chest compressed against the car with a violent crunch.

Jake bounced back as the man sprawled onto the car, wheezing in air. Ali arrived and grabbed a fist-full of his hair. She pulled him around and trusted the butt of her palm into his face, knocking him back, bloody.

Jake stood over the man as he dropped facedown to the blacktop. Ali dropped to one knee next to him. She clutched the back lobe of his head and said eerily calmly:

"That's what a broken nose feels like." wiping the blood on her hand onto the man's shirt. "It's a warning. You touch my sister again, and I break two bones."

She smashed his nose down onto the pavement. Once. Twice.

"If you do it again," she chirped "I'll double it to four."

She pushed the man's head down to the pavement four times, each harder than the last. Blood flowed freely from his nose onto the parking lot. Jake winces at the man's cries of pain and pleas for mercy. Ali was not going to give him any.

"What's four-times-two?" she queried. The man screamed. "_Eight._" She growled, voice dripping with acidic rage. Ali raised the man's head a few inches higher than before. Jake stepped forward to restrain her.

Ali trusted the bloody head down, but stopped a millimeter short of impact. Screams and tears drained from the cowering man who tried to kidnap Paige. Ali leaned in close to him and whispered:

"I'll double the punishment every time you, for some hilarious reason, don't learn your lesson. I'll continue to do it until I have broken every bone in your body, at which point, I'll remove you from the gene pool."

The man cried and covers what is left of his face. Ali got up and looked at Jake.

Jake shivered. "Was that necessary?"

"Oh, yes." Ali responded, clearly off in a dark place.

Jake watched the man scramble away through the crowd, trying to his face. Ali looked at Jake. Jake saw the ruthlessness in her eyes. He saw the pure unadulterated rage at the fact that someone had the impudence to touch _her_ sister. Tried to hurt _her_ sister. Tried to do who knows what. The sheer audacity of it all.

Jake understood then. Ali was no controller. Not at all.

When in doubt, make a joke.

"You know, I don't think he grasped that whole math thing with all the…" He hesitated, Ali blinked at him. "..fluid loss." Jake finished. "You really should have been more thorough." He edged as they walked back to Paige.

"The sicko got off easy." Ali said, monotone. "Did any cops see us?"

"Don't think so." He put his arm around Ali's shoulder. A smile finally crept across her face.

Jake shook his head. Ali toed the fine red line between revenge and sadism, and even though whether she 'overreacted' depends on perspective, it's clear that Ali is willing lose control and to hurt people to protect her charges.

A strength and a weakness.

Ali was a beautiful monster.

And that scared Jake.


	7. Gravity

**A/N: Hey guys sorry it's been a while. The past month and a half have been pretty brutal in every sense you can think of. I've spent the last two weeks at home recharging the batteries and being with the family. I came across my notes one this storyline two days ago and decided it was time this whole parking lot scene needed to end. I was getting tired of thinking up different words for 'crowd' and 'parking lot' and 'building' so as not to seem repetitive. Also, Ali's character is way, way intense. Like original fearless leader Jake intense, without the mopey whiney emo overtones. (Although, what can you expect when dealing with deal on a regular basis:-/) And i'm not too sure I want Ali to even be the 'serious' one. I dont think she has shown her true colors yet :-). So. I had a pastrami and rye sandwich (hella good) and a snapple, sat down and 4 hours later, it's my first new chapter in like a month! Sometimes good talks with your family put alot of things into perspective. Got a lot of bottled feelings out in this one, hope you enjoy! Thanks again to vodoo, sinister, and mrowrkat for the kindly support!  
**

* * *

Fifty-two year old Thomas had seen a lot of things in his lifetime. He worked in the kitchen of what was once the world's largest Psychiatric Center. He saw all kinds of tortured souls froth and tear themselves apart. All kinds of rage and paranoia. Saw his parents dig a fallout shelter in the backyard. Saw 'duck and cover' videos in class, the smiling children and the Hanna-Barberra turtle. He listened to his older brothers and sisters struggle to explain the "Cuban Missile Crisis" over a mid-October dinner. He remembered it was chilly that day; the leaves were beginning to bleed. The Drills were still vivid. He watched men land on the moon. 

8-Track.

He missed being drafted to Vietnam by 4 numbers. He saw his friends leave America forever. He watched empty caskets be lowered into empty graves. Drunk driving. Cassettes and FM Radio. Pot. LSD. ZZ-Top.

He watched his mother demand a divorce in the laundry room. He watched his Catholic father burn the legal papers on the stove and escape to Florida with a mistress. He got married to a flight attendant from Flushing. His father wasn't there. He watched his friend crumble from alcoholism as he reminisced of a hell full of ghosts and jungles and monsoons. He dropped out of community college. He found God.

Sailing.

He answered the police's questions as his boss was lead away for mob connections. He found a new job two months later and sometimes still passes by the abandoned pier on his commute, even though it was a half hour out of the way. He watched Mr. Gorbachev tear down the wall. He watched his wife bear four children. Changing diapers, the unnaturally colored little horrors wait inside. Little League. Soccer. Communion. CDs. Ballet. Swimming. Computers. Art classes. PTA. College applications.

He was there as the Towers fell.

He ran down Chambers Street. He escaped across the Brooklyn Bridge, ignoring the police's warnings. He watched the sky and listened and listened some more. He smelled the unapologetic burnt air as it passed over his home. He watched the beautiful and brilliant red sunsets shimmer over the next three days. He remembered his oldest son explain to him it was caused by the dust and debris in the air.

"Your father has liver cancer." The phone said. Flied down to Florida. His chain smoking, he knew. He was alone. He made peace. They both made peace. Another casket. Another wave of sorrow.

"Your mother has only a few more hours." The phone said. Back down to Florida. Her chain smoking, no doubt in his mind. She died while he was somewhere over Virginia.

He never paid attention to arguments over what defines a person. Life accomplishments, nurture or nature, self-identity, it didn't matter much to Thomas. He thought he was crazy when this question permeated his thoughts as he looked around the hectic parking lot. He thought he was selfish. He wanted to think of his family. He wanted to think of away off the Island. And, like always, he wanted to close his eyes and return to yesterday, when things were simpler. Back to baseball in the backyard and snowmen on the front lawn. Back to Mom and Dad and 2.5 Kids and a Dog and 2 cars and church on Sunday and Ovaltine after dinner at 6:30. His whole life was a series of tragedies and joys that he wished he could pick and choose. A long string of rationalizations that the world would devour him if he did not bite back.

Now, standing in a chaotic parking lot, listening to Father Porrhill preach of the rapture, did he finally question whether he should stop fearing change as an enemy to his being, but embrace it as a life-affirming evolution of his persona. Life up to now has been a long progression of highs and lows, and Thomas had been oblivious to the fact that anything else would have been boring.

Even meaningless.

Of that he was now sure. Only now did he realize that he had been on the run for fifty years. He had resisted the unstoppable tide of change and time and death and the whole world for long enough. He began to find new strength that stemmed from hope and faith. He felt like the strongest person in the whole parking lot. Even stronger than the man leading defiant chants on top of Porrhill's car. He had a whole life to think about. A new life. Fifty-two year old Thomas, son, brother, husband, father of four, couldn't help but reminisce. But he now wanted to focus on the continued lives of himself and his family. He had to find Jake.


	8. The Thirteenth Step

Paige was irate. Someone tried to kidnap her! Someone touched _her!_ Her eyes darted around on high alert. Her breaths were quick. People were staring at her. She didn't like that. Not at all. The gravity of what had just happened smacked her right in the face. Ali and Jake went after him, whoever it was, the creep. Paige didn't get a good look at him, but she was sure it was a 'him'. Probably looked like those serial killers on T.V. too. 

Of all the things that could've happen to her!

_Calm down, Paige._ She told herself.

She began to breathe deeply, and control her breaths. She pulled her hair back out of her face and looked around her. Surprisingly, no one asked her if she was alright, even though it was grossly apparent. The people who were staring at her had left. There was still panic everywhere. Paige would have shared their fear, but now her objective was clear.

Revenge.

Paige's eyes continued to scan the setting.

There- Someone knocked over the handicap parking sign with their car.

The car had stopped almost on the curb, a full foot past the edge. Someone was in a hurry, no doubt. Devil may care about a parking ticket. Paige grabbed the sign. _Violators will be towed and subject to a fine_. She tugged it from under the front bumper of the car and felt its weight.

Oh, that's too much weight.

She turned and saw the bottom of the sign was still encased in a cluster of concrete, still clinging to the pole after being torn up out of the sidewalk. No matter. Paige started in the direction of where Ali and Jake chased her assailant. The end of the pole dragged against the blacktop. Paige grunted in effort and frustration.

A sense of urgency welled up. She can't see her sister. She disappeared behind a wall of angry and frightened people, chasing after someone sicko. She could be hurt, or God forbid anything worse. Paige lifted the sign and smashed it down, hoping to shatter the concrete. With a thud that resonated up the pole, only little bits of white dust and rock splattered about.

Paige abandoned the sign and runs into the crowd. She stopped and scanned the faces around her for her sister. Disappointed, she moves on.

Then suddenly twitches to a stop. Frozen, she spotted Mr. Dale, a director at the local Sharing, slowly moving in her direction. Mr. Dale helps organize barbeque events and support drives. He was calmly walking among the crowd, past the brawls and skirmishes, past the looters and the frightened. Paige took two steps back and turned, hiding her face. Maybe he didn't see her. Maybe. Hopefully. She back tracked and crouched behind a line of shopping carts, then slunk around an empty car as he continued to stroll in her direction.

She tensed up as a man stumbled over her and growled at her in annoyance. She quickly shuffled to the front of the car and waited as Mr. Dale passed the shopping carts.

"Watch it, kid!" the man called as he moved on.

And was stopped by Mr. Dale.

Paige cursed the man in her head and held her breath.

"Is someone breaking into that car?" Mr. Dale asked.

The man was suddenly more wary. "Why, 's'it yours?" He returned between hurried breaths. Dale looked at the car and then back at the man, giving no response. He walked past him as the man looked him up and down. He peered down the side of the car, resting a hand on its trunk.

No one was there.

He turned around to the man, but he had already left. Dale shrugged to himself and moved on.

Paige slowly got up and rounded the corner of the building. She exhaled. This place was too dangerous. When she found her sister, she would bolt. Hopefully she was okay. Paige eyed a railing used for shopping carts. Stepping up onto the middle bar, she balanced her self against the outer wall of the building.

She saw Ali and Jake, hand over each other's shoulders walking away from the edge of the parking lot. She waved her hand cautiously. They didn't see her. They stopped as they were approached by a man, and it took a second for Paige to recognize him as Jake's father. She stepped down. She knew the direction to go now. Maneuvering through the crowd, she emerged from a dense patch of bodies to see Jake and his father walking away. Ali spotted her and walked forward. Paige had to say _something_.

"Jake!" she called to his back. He turned, smiled at her at shouted.

"I'll see you soon! Good luck!" And with that he turned and disappeared into the flood of people. Paige turned to Ali as she approached.

"Was that his Da- oh my God! You're covered in blood!"

"I'm not _covered_." Ali huffed, stretching out the front of her shirt. "And in case you were wondering, it's not my blood." Paige scrutinized her big sister with a frown.

She knew she was being a bit hypocritical, considering all the violent things she had planned for the creep, but it was still disarming to see an admired loved one fall into such a rage that she would _hurt _people. Paige remembered watching the gleam of the knife as it lay on the ground of her dark living room, Ali weeping. Then again, is that any different from a parking sign?

No. That's not fair. It becoming less and less a question of character and more of a question of…

Of what?

Survival?

Paranoia?

_Prudence_?

Many good people are going to be forced to make these decisions today.

Paige remembered that neither sister picked up the knife. It's still sitting on the floor like a small monument to the countless impossible situations like hers occurring all over the world.

_To many good people, it's kill or be killed today_.

Paige's frown softened. "What's he mean 'good luck'?"

Ali gestured around them. "Aside from all this? We're going to the train station."

Paige scratched her head as they turned to walk to the car. "I saw a high member of the Sharing walking around before."

"Just walking? Doing what?"

Paige shrugged. "I dunno, just watching people. Not looting, not stopping fights, not handing out water, he didn't even look like he was on duty."

"Like what, though? Like he's just watching people going all nuts for his own amusement? Like some kind of scientist?"

Paige shrugged, remembering her own disappointment while watching people on T.V. Ali gave a dismissing wave. "It doesn't matter; we'll figure it out later. He didn't see you right?"

Paige shook her head. She was pretty sure the motives of Mr. Dale, or whatever controlled Mr. Dale were very low on Ali's priorities at the moment. Now that she went over the sequence of event in her head, Paige also found that dissecting Mr. Dale's interest in the panicked activities was unnecessary, if not unsolvable.

Well… not completely unsolvable.

The sisters passed the spot where Paige abandoned the sign. It was no longer where she left it, but in the very parking spot it once presided over, sprawled among broken glass where the car she hid behind was now missing.

Paige walked a little more briskly.

But the look of utter calm and contempt of the chaos around Mr. Dale had definitely made Paige uneasy. He seemed completely separated from all the stress and fear of the day. Like what went on in the parking lot was trivial- a minor interesting tidbit in the face of a grand design. Mr. Dale never struck Paige as a religious man, so he would have no reason to be so resigned to the fact that humankind was under attack. It was so quickly apparent that he was absolutely unafraid and confident.

So much so that it instantly unnerved Paige enough to duck behind a bunch of shopping carts.

Not all members of the Sharing are controllers.

_But__some_ _are_.

No longer can she give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Not even-

"What of Mom is one of them?" She asked Ali, and covered her mouth, immediately regretting her words.

Ali whipped her head around at Paige and said "She won't be." with such icy conviction that Paige almost believed her.

Almost.


	9. Fiaap de Oiad

**A/N: Yeah. I have kinda intense dreams. They inspire kinda intense writings if I do it right, and I hope I did this right. Meet Matt, (my) Jake's best friend. He has a bad, bad day. The title of this chapter, well, TOOL fans should recognize it. It's in Enochain, the "Language of the Angels". There are sites all over the internet that would translate it for you. It's a theme combined with a particular nightmare I had last week thats still strangely burned into my memory. Enjoy everybody. Dont get too scared :-) (p.s. if this manages to scare you, then... i dont know. I should feel good about that, right?) Twenty-three skidoo! Here comes the silly wagon!**

* * *

Matt was brooding behind the driver's seat. Over another screaming match with his manager. He didn't take out his piercing again, and some old lady made an issue of it. She asked if it was "hygienic" to have those in one's eyebrows while cutting her pastrami. There's your half pound, ma'am. Smile. Next. 

The manager, Isam, _who's two god-damned years younger than him, by the way,_ confronts him in front of all the customers ten minutes later. Completely blindsides him! He probably waited for the most opportune time to embarrass him, the bastard!

Matt shook his head and turned onto Main Street, past the bakery and the retro diner. He works fifty freaking hours a week! And he's on salary anyway so he's getting squat for all the effort. He stopped taking classes at Suffolk for this? Hell no.

The 6AM to 2:30PM shift was his shift. It was just his. He always took it, everyone always let him. None of the kids he worked with either wanted to get up at 4:30, or had school. High school! Matt was sick of the immature children he dealt with on a day to day basis. If he wanted to still be around overly dramatic, self-involved 17 year-olds by the time he turned twenty-two he would have been a gym teacher.

Matt chuckled. He would probably get up and get off work around the same time too. And get summers off.

Hmm.

It's kind of humid. He turned on the A/C, then turned it back off and rolled down the window. You've got to save gas. Gas is money. _Money ain't cheap_, as Mom used to say.

He came to a red light pulled up next to a SUV in the next lane. Its windows were down too, a lady listening to the radio. Some dope of a DJ was talking to a caller.

"_Well, I certainly hope you're wrong, no offense."_

"_Oh sure, I wish I was wrong too, but I'm not-"_

"_Uh-huh. Okay thanks for the call, be safe. Frank in Bay Shore, you're on the air."_

"_Okay, um. Okay. We have to, to, use landlines now. But they're gonna get to those soon."_

"_You mean the cells are down?"_

"_Yeah, well- no. No, um, I mean that they're monitoring them. Uh. Triang- Triangulating our positions and tracing our calls. Uh. Uh. Oh god."_

"_Frank? You okay there?"_

"…_Running out of time…Oh man…"_

"_Frank?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_You with us, buddy?"_

Click.

"_Okay we lost Frank."_

Green light. Matt sped ahead. He had a headache, and didn't want to think.

He hated thinking. To ease his mind and calm him down, he needed music. Slipknot would suffice. Loud. The console displayed "VOL 21".

_I'm not afraid to cry, but that's none of YOUR BUSINESS! _Cory Taylor roared. Ah, sweet rage. That's better. Percussion pounded against the windows as Matt passed the post office, then the high school. The busses must have left early, because the lot was empty. Usually coming home around this time he had to race to beat the busses from cramming the intersection. It was his daily opponent on the Island, traffic.

Maybe his clock was wrong. But he'll take it.

Pulling onto his street, it looked unusually busy. There were lots of cars in every driveway. But as expected, his driveway was empty. His parents are never home this time of day. Matt had begun to take advantage of that fact over the past few months, having a get together, some liquor, some pizza, and some beer pong. It left a mess. Matt made a mental note to clear it up before Mom came home. Not now, he was not in the mood.

Matt went up the driveway, through the front door, up the stairs, into his room. He closed the door, and dropped limply onto his bed.

Lights out, to hell with today.

* * *

_Phosphorescent blue light. There were no walls. She came forward._

_Whispers in the distance._

_Singing behind him._

_She knows all sorrows._

_Cool air prodded gently. Its dry kisses lingered after it was gone._

_It was so difficult to see her face in this light._

_High above the schism. _

No, Matt

Away.

_Forward._

_And suddenly back._

_Far, far back._

_Howls behind him grew louder, and the wind tore at his flesh._

_Then down. Through invisible barriers and light absorbing screens._

_The cool blue is gone, a dark flicker in the distance._

_Black water all around. _

_Laughter._

_Terrible, maniacal laughter._

They're monitoring us.

_An eye._

_Splitting and duplicating, they blocked out the last bit of light._

I've got your eyes_, they whispered._

_1._

Soon. It's coming.

_Away._

_2. 3. **5.**_

They will get to you too.

_7. 11. **13. 17. 19.**_

_Away._

* * *

Matt forced his eyes open. Saw an empty glass standing sideways, on his dresser standing sideways. He righted himself by pushing down off his pillow. He noticed he was wet and cold. 

Cold sweats? Did he have a nightmare?

He couldn't remember.

Matt plopped back down on the pillow and groaned loudly.

He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to skip the daylight hours. He did not have the energy or the patience.

He couldn't tune out the gentle tapping on his window. Damn branches.

Okay, fine.

The clock said 5:21. Mom will be home in an hour. Matt reached over and tapped the radio on.

"_-stimates anywhere between one percent to six percent of the population. When you do the math, that comes out to a range of anywhere between three and eighteen million people. The Governor claims that most controllers and their efforts are concentrated but not limited to the western coast."_

Matt groggily stood and changed into clean clothes. He sniffed at the familiar stench of his room, which received its distinctive odor from a spilled bottle of cologne that soaked deep into the rug.

"_Conceivably, if we're talking full blown conspiracies here, you would only need to have a few thousand people in the right offices under your control to effectively control most of the information networks and decision making in government and, and the Military, and securities and infrastructure. I don't see it happening, but it's scary that our water and power plants and subways and bridges could all be under the control of a hostile entity that, you know, that really has no regard for our safety or best interests._

"_If that has happened, and if they're already in the police and the army like the California Governor says, then… what? What do you do? It's scary…"_

Matt changed the station. Politics fell on deaf ears.

"_-staging what could be described at a coup d'état…"_

Change.

"_-ational Guard has indeed mobilized without any executive order and, although Washington denies any loss of control…"_

Change.

"_-just saw a bunch of them flood into a high school looking like they-"_

Change. Matt shook his head. Is this thing on FM?

"_-a government conspiracy! They knew about this for a long time, and planned to use it or let it happen to control the population!"_

"_Okay, see, I don't trust the government either with negotiating and dealing with this alien in some closed top secret room, but I just can't see our elected president baiting these 'Yeerks' into wiping out enough of the U.S. to make us submissive to their will. It's ridiculous."_

"_Not if the President is even in charge anymore! Whether he's one of them or everything's being run by some shadow government, it doesn't matter who we elected. It's all out of the President's hands."_

"_Well then why did that alien and land on the mall in Washington? It looked like it was at the press conference-"_

"_Los Angeles is burning! Aren't you listening? You don't see that on T.V. but its happening right now! New York City is under attack and we don't even know who's shooting at whom! The news networks won't tell you anything!"_

"_Because the anchors only read what's on the TelePrompTers."_

Matt opened his bedroom window and smelled the air. He blinked a few times to adjust to the light, and leaned his elbow on the sill.

He began to listen more closely. The intensity and determination of all the callers on the radio began to draw his interest.

"_-fact is that the controllers are censoring the news! Keeping us blind and dumb!"_

"_Oh come now what're the chances that every major cable news network is run by controllers and censoring the news?"_

"_Well- Very good, I would think! That's only a few dozen people in the right places running the show. All you would have to do is pinpoint them. If they're invading then they definitely would have taken care of that-"_

What invasion?

The voices on the radio slowly became less audible. There was buzzing sound masking the conversation and overtaking the station.

Then the buzzing stopped for a half second of silence.

Followed by a high pitched wail of static.

Matt spun around and bumped his forehead on the side of the window frame.

Rubbing his eyebrow he picked up his radio and inspected it. The antenna was still attached. He wiggled it for a second. Nothing.

The high pitched whine persisted. Matt dialed through the rest of the channels and found nothing.

Matt clicked his tongue in disappointment. The damn thing's shot. It was only a year old. The whine of static filled the room. It sounded like some kind of centrifuge or a supercharger. Matt clicked the radio off and leaned out the window again, listening to the outside world.

It was strangely quiet. No sounds, not even any birds. Just the moving air and some ruffled leaves. The kind of silence before a storm.

The air tasted like it too.

Matt leaned back inside and turned on the T.V. to check the Weather Channel. He always had an interest in the weather. Meteorology would have been a job, had he continued with college. For now it would have to be just a hobby. He shuffled through the channels.

"-not yet authenticated, the Governor's office refuses to comment on the whereabouts-"

"-errifying chain of events after it appears Press Secretary Gifford pulled a weapon-"

"-try my eight-pound Oreck XL-"

"-time offer, so call-"

"-California's emergency workers-"

Saxophones light played upon each other as the local five-day forecast displayed over a deep blue graphic background. Could be rain.

Matt looked out the window a third time. Three houses up the block, the Bresinhans were in their driveway, packing their van. They were nearly running into each other, wordlessly scurrying in and out of their garage.

What is going on?

Matt looked at the radio. He remembered something about Los Angeles burning. War in New York City?

Unimaginable.

Matt reached for the T.V. remote, but stopped himself and his hand hovered over the small black piece of plastic. He promised himself he would not get worked up over all this stuff.

He pulled back his hand and wringed his wrist. It has been a hard day. A dove cooed somewhere outside.

Matt decided to heat up some pizza. Better yet, he was going to have it cold. Microwaves would always make things taste crappy anyway. He walked down the stairs into the living room.

He heard his parents' voices. They were home really early.

Oh, crap. Matt looked at all the beer cans and pizza boxes on the coffee table. They'd be upset about that. Damn, he specifically did not want to talk with them. He loathed the nagging and the accusatory looks he got whenever they wanted him to do something. To make matters worse, he knew he was wrong this time, even if he had planned to clean it up before Mom would arrive at her normal time. Fighting with them nearly every day took a toll on him.

He heard them talking in the kitchen. Great, just where he was headed. It sounded like they were talking about work.

"It doesn't matter that it's not our fault. You know how he is when he is when he gets real angry." Mom's deep smoker's voice vibrated.

Well, better for Matt to show his face than for them to find him in his room.

"I heard he cut down Sub-Visser Forty-one right there on the Bridge." Mom continued.

"That's the third damn time this year that he's killed our regional sub-visser. It's not even his area. I don't want to think about what he's got planned for the west coast's leaders." Dad said.

"He's going to make an example out of someone, that's for sure."

"I don't know whether to be thankful I'm not responsible for anything or afraid because I'm expendable."

"The pool ship couldn't wait for him to get back to his Blade Sh-"

Mom and dad spun around and watched as Matt walked into the kitchen. He felt their stares burning holes into the back of his head as he opened the fridge. Well, if they were upset about the mess, then this silent treatment was definitely a new way of letting him know it. Matt pulled out his pizza and looked at them.

"What?"

Mom looked at Dad, who said "Nothing."

"Kay…" Matt blinked as he walked out of the room. "I'll clean up the mess, I just didn't know you be home so early."

His mom watched him leave and with her bottom jaw forward, she crossed her arms and stared at her husband.

Matt trooped back up the dark mahogany staircase, and took an immediate right at the top of the climb into his room. He stood pizza folded in one hand looking out his window. The air felt electric with an invisible energy that made the hair on the back of Matt's neck stand straight. He smiled and welcomed the jolt of energy. He had always wondered what caused that.

Damn. Mom parked behind his car again. He hated asking her to move it because of the acidic looks he would get from her as she tells him "you should have parked in the street."

Matt sat on his bed leaning his back against the wall, and chewed his cold pizza. He checked the radio. Still that eerie static.

He looked at his T.V. remote.

_Keeping us blind and dumb!_

Matt turned on the T.V. and clicked the CH UP button a few times before the picture loaded up.

"A Visser is an enormously powerful position, the equivalent of a general or admiral. A Sub-Visser can rank anywhere from a sergeant, lieutenant, to a captain or even a lesser general. The lower the number rank, the greater power."

Visser. Mom just uttered that word. Matt studied the anchor on T.V. He was not dressed up. His hair wasn't straight, his liver spots weren't blushed. There were no flashy graphics or color schemed sets. In fact, he looked like he was in front of a concrete wall in some basement, lit by what appeared to be cool fluorescent lighting that drained all the color from his face.

Visser. Killed. Expendable. The words of his parents flooded past him in the river of his mind. They were not talking about work, or some hostile corporate downsizing.

They were home early from work.

Matt remembered the look that both of them gave him. Speechless surprise.

Things are coming into context in Matt's though process.

Matt realized he was still chewing his first bite of pizza. He swallowed, and changed the channel to Fox News.

This studio was intact and looked busy. The young blonde anchorwoman with sharp features was looking at her co-anchor talking and smiling like nothing was going wrong, talking into the camera as if he were comforting a child after a bad dream.

"There's no real logical answer to any of the wild and crazy rumors flying around the internet right now because, that's just it. You can't answer crazy with logical. There's no way-"

"Martin, are you… are you for real, here?" The woman whispered to him as the camera cut to her. The older man smiled at her, started blinking really fast, and opened his mouth.

But he said nothing for a few seconds. He chuckled awkwardly and looked back at the camera. Loud voices clamored off stage and both anchors averted their gaze in the direction of the voices. Martin fixed his papers.

The screen flashed static.

The picture of the Martin's face wobbled a few seconds later. A pitch resonated from the T.V. and got louder. Louder and louder still.

Matt thinks he hears animals. Pigs squealing. On top of that there was a whoop-whoop-whoop of what sounded like a giant fan blade slowly cutting through the air. At the height of this there was the deep tenor of a big motor.

Then, the pitch doubles in volume. It sounded like screaming. The picture faded to total static. Matt recoils back and covered his ears. The picture burst into a pure white flash and…

The power went out.

The lights, the clock, the fan. A breath later everything comes back on. There is no more picture and only a monotone beep. The kind of beep of a flat-lined EKG machine.

_Only a few dozen people in the right places._

The hairs on Matt's neck would have uprooted themselves they were standing so straight.

A voice in the back of his head insisted that he get out of the house.

_Away._

He heard birds chirping outside. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The winds have changed and picked up slightly. A warm front was coming.

He grabbed his wallet and his cell and he started back down the stairs.

Halfway down his father appeared at the bottom, blocking his path.

"Come with your Mother and me." He said.

"Where?"

"Aunt Mary's." He said, hands on each railing.

"Why are we going to Vermont?"

"I don't know, let's go. We can't stay here."

"Why not?"

"Let's go, Matthew, now!"

"Aren't we going to pack?"

"Listen to your father, Matthew! In the car, now!" his mother called from the dining hall.

Matt looked at his father. His name was John-Patrick. J.P. _All you would have to do is pinpoint them._

_Keeping us blind and dumb!_ Matt was getting a clearer picture now.

He was not getting in that car.

He was defiantly not staying in this house. His car keys were in the kitchen. He could not think of getting to anything else. He slowly moved down the stairs and past his father, who stood aside. Past his mother, who motioned at Matt impatiently. His mom's cell beeped a message as he turned into the dining room then to the kitchen.

"Shit." She hissed, looking at the tiny screen.

"Matt!" Dad roared, running into the kitchen.

"Just leave him, Olinn!" his mother screamed. "They're grouping up now!"

Dad turned the corner, and brought his hands up as Matt heaved the silverware drawer at him. Dad cried out in surprise and barreled forward. Matt side stepped and pushed him into the fridge. His dad bounced off the machine with a grunt and flailed out at matt, who ducked and ran into the dining room. Mom came rushing around the corner, forcing Matt to retreat behind the dinner table.

He reached for the centerpiece, a heavy glass candle base, and raised it up. Dad came from his right and blindsided him into the table. Matt dropped the heavy glass onto the table and threw elbows at his father, who grabbed his neck and forced his head to the table.

Matt twisted and squirmed free and looked up to regain his bearings. His dad quickly shoved him in the face and knocked him back into the cabinet. The cabinet shook as its wine bottles and glassware contents rattled inside. Matt grunted in frustration trying to push his assailant off, and barely ducked in time to avoid an elbow to the face, which instead shattered the glass doors and showers thousands of tiny knifes onto him.

Matt, head still down, swung a punch at his father's midsection, connecting with a kidney. His father gasped and spit out. Matt used the time bought to push him back and sidestep. But Dad recovered and violently trusted his shoulder into Matt, shattering wineglasses and plates inside the cabinet, cutting him everywhere.

Mom screamed behind them and bent over, clutching her head. She made grunting sounds, and her face was flushed purple with effort. As Dad looked over his shoulder at her, Matt rolled right and headed through the kitchen for the backdoor. Dad's arm began to twitch and her grabbed it, staring daggers at Matt as he threw open the screen door and ran out into the backyard and scaled the fence in a single bound.

"Leave- him!" Mom grunts. "Let's go!" she growled and stood up upright.

Matt ducked under a low branch and tore down a small ditch and over the shin high layer of dead leaves and branches. He stopped and looked back. His car was blocked! Dammit!

He surged forward through the shade as fast as he could. He tripped and fell face first under the leaves. Resetting his feet he pushed himself forward, out of the leaves and dashed on. He came to a residential street. He burst from the trees and ran.

He ran and ran and ran until his knees buckled and his lunged were on fire. He fought back tears. He shivered in terror. He had a ton of energy left, but his body was shutting down on him. He was out of his mind. He stumbled off the road back into the trees, finding a thick evergreen to hide behind. He collapsed on the ground, wheezing and coughing.

He threw up. Twice.

He gasped for air and wailed. Curled into a fetal ball, he shuddered in the shade. He looked up and down the street, mortally terrified and convinced his parents' car was going to approach anytime soon.

_He was in the kitchen with aliens._

_They were his mother and father._

Matt sobbed and clutched his knees.

_I know all your sorrows._

He had been in his own kitchen with two creature that did not belong there.

Thunder rumbled overhead. sky was of blue-grey and silver.

_Away, Matt._

_Run away._


	10. Remnants

There's something to be said about the human spirit. It's primal will to survive. It's savage and tenacious single mindedness to protect one's charges. Time and time again, battered and broken it will drag itself up and throw itself against an impenetrable wall until one of them falls forever.

It's an awesome display to witness, if you're lucky enough. Yet it is maddening to experience. When a human is driven to the point where its sufferings, physical or otherwise, become irrelevant and even its life meaningless in the face of a singular purpose, the fanatical, maniacal, suicidal, and unstoppable march to the end is petrifying. You will never forget it, and never truly be able to recount it.

It was Linda's end.

It was time for her march.

Deep in the recess of her own tortured mind she awoke. Gertriss 115 could not have stopped it, he realized. He was distracted by the boy when she made her move. The speed in which the host's consciousness flooded her neurons stunned Gertriss. She was broken. A memory. A shell of her former self trapped in the prison cell of her own mind. She fought nonstop for the first two months.

She wrestled with the Yeerk in the mind's landscape. She mutilated her body while Gertriss bathed in the pool. She resorted to holding her breath trying to suffocated herself. She almost managed to swallow her tongue once. It was all an admirable effort, but she tired herself out without learning the nuances of what her situation became. She was sedated every three days now. Over the past year, she stopped screaming at Gertriss. She cried for a while. To herself, to her master. It all became incomprehensible for awhile, but Gertriss could still hear the sorrow through the noise. He could feel it. The next year, he had enough. He raised a wall between Linda and himself, shutting her out, silencing her completely.

He let her stew behind that wall for the past year. Either to sort herself out or tear herself apart. Three years is a long time to have the same host. Many develop personal relationships with their bodies. Some good, most bad. Gertriss 115 never got that aspect of a host, at least by his definition. He knew everything there was to know about Linda. He saw all her memories, watched every fragment, every hazy recollection. He knew everyone she knew. Knew why she hated everyone and loved everyone. He felt her emotions, marveling at the biochemical complexity of this new body; its superiority over the taxxon he formerly resided in.

But he never truley talked to her. He never 'met' his host.

Three years in the same human was as long as any Yeerk had gone before. Humans were still a mystery to the empire's sociologists. No one knew how they would react to infestation. Everyone was surprised, many Yeerks were not prepared.

That is why Getriss was afraid to take down the wall. He was afraid of what would lay on the other side. No Yeerk, as far as he knew, buried its host for as long as Gertriss did.

Olinn stood by the night Gertriss let down the wall. Olinn's host, J.P., Linda's husband, would be large enough to restrain the host should something go wrong. Gertriss would take no chances. Should he have to abandon his vessel, Olinn would drop him in a bowl of water resting on the dresser.

"Okay." Gertriss told Olinn.

The barrier came down and he listened.

He heard nothing.

Cautiously he extended his reach into the dark chamber where he left Linda. He felt the walls and investigated the nooks and crannies.

He felt her. She was deep in.

Deep down. She was dull and inert.

Linda was now only blank slate, wiped clean by the staggering blasts of her own sandstorm.

She was gone. Her told Olinn so.

Olinn said his host, J.P., was unfathomably enraged.

They laughed, nervously. Gertriss lay in bed that night stewing. Perhaps they are dealing with something greater than themselves, he wondered. Even he had questioned the morality of toying with the minds of sentient beings. Complex, wonderful species in their own right. What kind of monster was his species, blessed and cursed with this ability to transcend their own natural limitations by taking the life of another as their own. _And at what price?_ What did the Yeerk empire have left to accomplish after they take everything that they say is their birthright. Their destiny. Andalite bodies, human bodies, hork-bajir, are they all just temptations?

Earth's warm yellow sun rose in the window, and Gertriss cast his doubts aside for another day.

Now the human race was slowly becoming aware of their presence. No telling what they would do, save that bodies will be lost.

The boy, Linda's son, had lashed out. He knew. He raised the glass centerpiece over his head, preparing to throw it at Gertriss. At his mother.

Olinn hit him from the side, knocking it out of his hands. The two shoved and punched each other. Gertriss was clutching his cell phone. All Yeerks are to regroup at the pool. The pool ship was preparing to go hot and drop Hork-Bajir shock troops in the open. They had no interest in preserving the cities and the infrastructure.

They would raze everything.

Cut it down, burn it. Any threat. Any living thing. Every hiding spot. Every shelter. If there were a few of their own still lingering in the hot zones, be dammed with them. They knew what they would stay to face. There was no time to deal with this boy.

But momma loves her baby.

Out of the quiet and the darkness, Linda welled up and pushed back against Gertriss before he could react. Linda speared through the barrier blocking her body functions. Her speech center. For a split second her surge filled every synapse and every cell of her neural network. Her body flashed and burned, and Gertriss was, for a brief terrifying moment, blind. He was banished from Linda's mind. He frantically struggled to regain control, retaking the eyes and the speech center.

But he realized his mistake as soon as he made it. She had, for the first time in the three years he occupied her, feigned an outburst to conceal her real motives. She pinpointed her attack for a part of the body she knew Gertriss would not consider essential. She collapsed her own knee. Her left one, in fact. Linda, and Gertriss, fell. Their head hit the wall and strained as the body's weight fell upon Linda's neck, bending it, twisting it.

It couldn't be.

For even just a split second, it was all that boy needed to escape. Linda and Gertriss lay on the floor, stunned. Gertriss allowed Linda the pleasure of tracking the boy with her own eyes. She watched him step over her twisted body, no longer blocking his escape route.

"Leave- him! Let's go!" He grunted at Olinn, who watched in surprise as Linda's tortured mind was unable to sustain its assault. Olinn's arm twitched and he grabbed it. J.P. took a queue from his wife, and he too fought back.

The hosts had caught their Yeerks off guard. They saved their son.

Linda, exhausted, coolly and silently let go. Gertriss felt a tiny flicker of satisfaction in what was left of her, and felt her fall away. Gertriss, could not help but admire her. He considered that boy's life meaningless. She, even now, considered him everything.

((Linda?)) He whispered to her. He received no reply.

She was gone.

And she gave everything, even though she had hardly anything left.

Gertriss was now truly alone.

He righted himself as the boy burst through the back door.

Gertriss would never forget the insignificant sacrifice Linda made for her son's insignificant life.

"Olinn."

He looked at Gertriss.

"Theres nothing left, here, Olinn. Let's go."

Olinn smiled J.P.'s smile. The kind of smile that used to melt Linda's heart before they got married. Before they were…

"Yeah, let's go." He said.

Olinn and Gertriss left the house for the last time.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

A dove cooed on their roof.

Wind softly kissed Linda's skin.

Was it insignificant? How could Gertriss explain to anyone that it was otherwise? It was something you had to experience. Something you could never forget.

* * *

**A/N: Quick and dirty, done late at night too. Forgive any spelling or grammar eroors its just too late to care right now, and I wanted this up for sunday morning. Also, Fourth Island (formerly Witness to the End of a World) has hit 800 views! i dont know if thats alot by standards, since im still a rookie, but i appreciate it all just the same! double thanks to those who have and especially continue to review. Thats the motivation i need to finish, knowing someone has read this and left some feedback. Also, im sad that after the Jet's were eliminated now the only NY sports teams playing right now is the knicks, rangers, and islanders... ((shudders)). edit Buffalo too, but a) thats still hockey even though theyre sick and b) they're the other kind of NY. You wouldnt understand unless you live here. The whole upstaters vs. downstaters adds a bit of tension college sometimes. STOPPINGTHERAMBLINGNOWKBYE**


	11. Against the Flow

There were so many people walking the street. Traffic fell to a standstill. All, with somber faces and weighted steps, marched past the car. Jake checked the lock on the door. His father drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and stared at the dashboard.

The space outside the car began to pall into deeper blue hues as the sun took solace behind the clouds, as if it sought not to look at the scene below. Every shadow was a deeper purple, every highlight a grayish blue. Wind filtered through the tree line above and the flowers and cool grass tensed at attention. It all may be imagined, Jake forced himself to suspect. It looked like the dimmest day he'd ever seen. Grim faces stared back at Jake as if they were burdened with the knowledge of their ending. No one knew what would happen or when, but everyone felt the urge to find a foxhole before the population stampedes like frightened cattle.

After the spectacle of the supermarket, Jake could not get the metaphor of sheep out of his thoughts. Everyone in town has descended upon the market. Even he found himself there. He held no remorse for the man Ali thrashed. No sorrow for the people who froze when the mother fell. No pity for the man who gutted himself trying to get through the shattered pane of glass.

But he was a part of it. He was just one of the frightened sheep looking for a Sheppard. And all through it all he felt he was missing something. Missing a subtle, almost hidden point. There was a nagging itch in the back of his mind suggesting that there were more malicious workings in the background, and if there was anything Jake could say he feared above all else it was the unknown and the unseen. There was no way he could stop whatever was coming. Not now, probably not even if he had tried his whole life. This event was too big, and too wild, and it scared him that what he could not see was out to get him. It wasn't just the people, and it wasn't just the aliens, and that notion Jake could not explain.

The shadows under the trees got a little darker, and as if on cue, tiny glassy balls of water began to pepper the windshield.

Inching ahead on the road, people walked by carrying baskets and dragging wheelbarrows. Jake imagined that if he rolled down the window, he would find that it was just as silent out there as it was in the car. On the driver's side, he could see a line of people brandishing bats and poles, scowling as the pushed ahead through the crowd.

How could things get like this? So quickly and completely did everything fall apart that one could only watch in wonder as culture and civility vanishes and leaves in its wake desperation and fear. Jordan mentioned earlier that watching the news was like watching a science fiction movie. There were aliens, yes. There was a war in our midst, yes. But this is not just science fiction, it is social fiction.

The street was a river overrun with bodies. Moving against the tide, Thomas cursed at the sight of the flashing lights of a fire truck inching its way around the curve ahead. A few blasts of its horn parted the herd. Cars slowly inched onto the shoulder, as if to defer in submission to the greater beast. It drew closer and blared a siren that penetrated the interior of the car, where Thomas grew irritated at the people preventing him from getting out of the way.

"Come on! Move it asshole!" He growled at the group of men walking by in a daze. He pounded the horn, provoking nasty stares and choice words from the half dozen pedestrians. "Move it!" he outright yelled through the windshield. Jake wordlessly pointed at the fire truck only a few feet away, but a man kicked the front bumper anyway. Jake raised his arms into a wide shrug at the man, and Thomas only glared forward. The fire truck boomed a complaint at their car. The man raised his arms back as if to challenge both Jake and his father. Jake saw in the corner of his eye the fire truck jerk forward and stop in warning.

"Move!" Jake roared. Thomas started to inch forward at the man who in shock put his palms onto the hood and angrily yelled into the car. Not budging the man, Thomas had to stop. The firemen had seen enough. The mammoth vehicle growled forward and butted the back of the car. Jake and Thomas jerked in their seats as the machine pushed through their car as if it was of little consequence. The car spun and rubber screeched on the road. Sheet metal bent and popped.

"Shit!" Thomas gasped, blaring on the horn again. Jake looked up to exchange gazes with the firemen in the truck as it passed by. Their faces, too, were grim and burdened. They passed by without any hesitation. Jake looked back to the side of the road. The man was gone. Everyone walked past the car showing only minor interest.

Thomas opened his door and leaned out to check the damage. Satisfied, he slammed his door shut and inched back onto the road. They were a mere fifty feet from the turnoff into their neighborhood.

They made it onto their street 15 minutes later without further incident. Drizzle came and went and an invisible chill snuck through the air. As they rounded the bend they saw a tall figure standing on their lawn. As they approached the figure turned to face them. It was Jake's friend Matt from just down the block. Recognition turned to concern as his face became more defined as the car drew near. He was bloodied. He had bruises all over his face and blood ran down his forehead. He started waving his arms at them and walked onto the driveway. Thomas slowed down and Jake rolled down the window.

A quick glance at Matt's driveway down the block revealed the absence of his parents' car. Jake couldn't help but wonder what happened to them. A sharp chill ran down his spine.

_Did Matt kill his parents?_

Matt walked briskly up to the window. Pale as a ghost, he opened his mouth but Jake spoke first.

"You didn't-" He started. Matt shook his head and cut him off, wildly waving his hands. He pointed at the dark front door.

"Jordan has a gun."


End file.
